


Head over Heels

by misspamela



Category: 24
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	Head over Heels

"There goes Charles Logan. Working the room again."

Whoever said it was tall, grey-haired, expensively suited, and therefore completely indistinguishable from any other of the Washington politicos circling around her. Martha Jameson felt an immediate stab of pity for Charles Logan, whoever that was. He'd attracted the attention of the sharks, and that was never fun. Honestly, who came to a presidential fundraiser and _didn't_ work the room?

Martha had just arrived in town, fresh from her father's latest assignment in Barcelona. She wasn't up on the fresh meat from Georgetown, which is what she assumed the unfortunate Charles Logan to be. Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a nearby butler, she headed for the mirrored walls near the ladies' room. No proper lady would be caught primping in front of the mirror in plain view instead of flitting around the ballroom. Martha wasn't exactly a proper lady. Too young to be taken seriously, too rich to be ignored, and too pretty to be dismissed, she did whatever the hell she wanted. The mirror showed that her black Adolfo halter dress still looked fantastic and that her blonde hair was still curled perfectly, flowing down her back.

She downed one glass of champagne, hailed the waiter down for another, and asked him, "Charles Logan. Where is he?"

The waiter, an elderly man named Robert who she'd known positively forever, nodded at a small figure cornering Ted Stevens near the shrimp cocktail. "Over there, ma'am."

"Georgetown?" she asked. He wasn't standing near the nervous herd of graduates.

Robert shook his head. "Business. A rising star at Pacific Nuclear."

"Interesting." Martha waltzed over to Ted, carefully avoiding the other dancers. The champagne was going to her head a bit, but she kept steady. Martha Jameson never lost her balance.

"Ted, darling." She held the crystal flutes out to either side of his body so she could lean in and give him a European kiss-kiss. He smiled graciously and accepted, but not before she could see his grimace. Of course, to him, she was just another debutante putting on airs.

Martha laughed out loud, startling both Ted and Charles. She_ was_ just another debutante, putting on airs. "Lovely party, isn't it?" Martha handed Charles the champagne. "Martha Jameson. I bought you a drink."

Scowling, Charles said, "But they're complimentary."

"Are _you_?" Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ted walk away, shaking his head. He was probably off to tell Daddy that she was being loose again. Good.

"I'm sorry?" Charles was short but intense, neat and polished, with fantastic eyes. He looked both unbearably eager and stern at the same time. No wonder he was annoying the pols. He had zero people skills.

"I'm asking if you're complimentary." She winked. "Do you like my dress?"

He opened his mouth, obviously overwhelmed. But Charles Logan had a little backbone in him, because he recovered quickly with, "Well, who the hell wouldn't?"

"Come on." She took his hand and led him outside. "People are talking about you."

"Yeah?" He straightened his tie and arched his neck. When he smiled, he looked like a completely different person.

"Don't get excited. It's never good when people on the Hill are talking about you." She drained the rest of her champagne.

"Oh." Charles deflated a little. "What do I do about it, then?"

Martha smiled. He was asking her - her! - what to do. "You need to shut up. Nobody here wants to talk to you. They want _you_ to listen to them."

Charles frowned and sipped his champagne. He seemed to be weighing her words carefully, like she wasn't just another blonde in eveningwear. Martha felt taller, sexier, more powerful than she ever had in the arms of gorgeous young Spanish diplomats. Charles Logan was an odd little man, but he was a _smart_ odd little man.

"Martha Jameson," he said, with a stiff and formal bow, "would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?"

"Why, Charles Logan, I would be delighted." She kicked off her heels, hiked up her dress, and whistled for a cab.

 

……………….

_May 1971_   
They honeymooned in Hawaii, on the Big Island. It was hot, unseasonably so. The lush vegetation seemed to writhe and grow in the steamy air right before Martha's eyes. She shook her head.

"Something wrong?" Charles walked into their suite, wearing his most foolish Bermuda shorts and carrying a tray of drinks.

"Just the heat," she said, smiling. "Those look refreshing." She took the nearest tall glass, her nails scraping into the frost forming on the side.

"Well, I can't have you swooning from heat exhaustion, can I?" Winking, he leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. "Our reservations are for 7:00."

"Oh!" She leapt up. "I bought a new dress for dinner."  Martha ran to the closet and pulled it out, letting the pink chiffon swirl around her legs. She batted her eyes and laughed.

Charles whistled low. "That's a hell of a dress."

"I knew you'd like it." Sliding her hand down her body, she molded the fabric to her curves.

"But don't you think it's a little…" Charles trailed off. He stuck his hands in his pockets and winced.

"What?" Martha let the dress drop a little. The fabric tickled the tops of her feet.

"Well, I've got some fellows from United Oil coming for dinner, and…well, just this time, maybe you could wear something more…conservative?"

She tossed the dress in the closet and turned away, but he continued, "Just for tonight, Martha? Okay? I know it's our honeymoon, but these guys are _sharks_. You _know_ that. You know how important this is to me, Martha, please?"

Walking over, he wrapped his arms around her. "Tomorrow, you can wear that dress." She felt him smile into her shoulder. "Just for me."

Martha smiled. It wasn't his fault that he worked so hard. They really _were_ sharks out there, in the energy business. She'd make him make it up to her.

"You're taking me out on the midnight cruise tomorrow."

He whirled her around and kissed her softly, then harder, teasing. "Anything for you."

………………….

_March 1983_

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Charles grabbed her arms and shook her once before pulling her into a tight embrace. "I've been worried sick!"

Martha dropped her overnight bag on the wing chair in the hallway, slowly removed her navy pumps, and walked into the kitchen. She perched on a stool and leaned on the shiny black marble counter. "I just needed some time to think."

"I know it was a surprise�""

"_Congress?_" Martha slammed her hand on the table.

"�"A surprise," he continued, "but not a shock." He sat down next to her and rubbed her shoulders. "You know I've wanted this since the day we met, Marty."

"I know." She knew. She knew what a life of politics was like. The press, the crowds, the balls, the fundraisers, the never-ending questions, the total lack of privacy. Her mother, weeping quietly, late at night. Martha's hands began to shake.

"I just �" I can't do it without you. I need you." He buried his face in her hair. "I'm not strong enough," he whispered.

_Goddamn_, she cursed silently. _I can't be this for you_.

"We will do great things," Charles murmured in her ear. "Great things."

Martha's hands were still shaking as she got up and moved automatically to the decanter of brandy in the cabinet above the stove. Martha rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut against the invasion of her memories. The press, the crowds…she shook her head.

"Okay," she said, pouring herself a double. "Okay. So let's talk about how we're going to run this campaign."

………………….

_October 1999_

"Marty, listen." Charles held up his hands, trying to calm her. She was way beyond calm.

"No, _you_ listen, Charles! For once in your goddamned life, just _listen_!" Martha ran into the bedroom, looking, looking for something. A way out.

Charles opened the door and she could handle it �" his hand on the door handle, handling her life, get a grip, Martha, ha-ha, get a grip on the handle…

She grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at Charles. It seemed to freeze in the air, freezing him, freezing the moment, before it shattered into a million white pieces.

Martha dropped to her knees, sobbing. "Charles." She reached for him.

"It's okay, it's okay," he crooned. "I know a doctor, okay? I know a doctor. We'll fix you up."

…………………..

_January 2005_

Everything was dark. The room was always dark, even in the middle of the day. The nurses were dark. The grounds were dark. Her life, dead, snuffed out along with the sun.

A sliver of light slashed through the room and lie at the foot of her bed.

"Ma'am?"

"Aaron?" Yes, it was. It was Aaron, framed in light.


End file.
